Monster in His Eyes(15)

I nod, my heart in my throat. I'm not scared, but damn if he doesn't  have me a bit nervous. He actually gave me safe words. "You're not going  to, like, beat me, are you?"

"No," he says right away, his voice sharp. "I'll never hit you. And I'll never hurt you, unless you want me to."

I can't imagine ever wanting that, but the ache between my thighs, the  memory of the way he hurt earlier, when he was inside of me, sends a  differing chill down my spine.

"They're just in case," he says. "In case I get too rough, in case I  lose myself and you've had enough. Better safe than sorry, right?"

"Right," I mumble, reaching for his zipper. I start to tug it down when he grabs my hand again, laughing as he pulls away.

"Not tonight," he says as he holds on to my hand. "I need to go."

My brow furrows. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," he says. "I have work to do."

My gaze shifts to my alarm clock. One o'clock in the morning. "Now?"

"Yes," he says again, lifting my hand and placing a light kiss on the  back of it. He follows it up with a quick peck on my lips before letting  go and turning away.

He says nothing else.

I stare, watching incredulously as he disappears out the door.





Days pass.

Days of nothing.

The soreness from our encounter fades from my body as another ache seeps  in-the ache of not feeling his touch in days. It's a double-edge sword,  a strange sensation I've never dealt with before.

I feel so empty.

It's crazy. I know.

I'm crazy.

He's driving me insane.

Naz steamrolled into my life and then strolled right back out in the  middle of the night, offering me nothing more than a sweet goodbye kiss.

I don't know what to do about it.

I don't know what to do with myself.

I spend the days alternating between hiding out in my room and venturing  out into the city, slipping back into my world of solitude and cheap  food.

And I wallow.

I wallow.

Ugh, I'm pathetic.

This isn't me. I don't fall apart over guys. I don't mope, and stress, and wallow.

So why am I doing it?

After glancing at my phone for probably the hundredth time, waiting for  the bastard to ring, I toss it aside with a groan. I could call him; I  should call him. But I keep waiting for him to call me. I'm becoming one  of those girls.

I'm turning into Melody.

Speaking of Melody, she comes back tomorrow, and I haven't heard from  her once. I know she's busy, on vacation with the friends she's known  for years, so I'm not surprised, but it admittedly hurts to realize I'm  so alone.

I don't just mean that because everyone's vacated the premises. I mean  it in the 'I could go missing and I'm not sure anyone would notice' kind  of way.                       
       
           



       

A shrill ring echoes through the room. I snatch it up, my heart stilling  those few seconds before I glance at the screen. Please be Naz. Please  be Naz. Please be Naz.

It's Mom.

Scratch that. Someone would notice.

She would.

Sighing, I drop down onto my bed as I answer it. "Hey, Mom."

"Hey, Kissimmee! How are you?"

"Good. You?"

She sounds good, confirming it when she launches into stories from  Watertown, gossiping about the people around town. I only vaguely  remember most of them but I listen and occasionally chime in. I worried  about leaving her all alone when I moved to the city, but she seems to  be doing well.

Dare I say better than even me today?

"Are you sure you're okay, sweetie?" she says after a moment. "You're awfully quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just... bored."

And lonely.

And kind of hungry.

I'm a mess.

"You should've visited this week," she says. "We could've spent some time together."

"I know... I'll see you soon, though."

"Can't wait," she says. "Anyway, I should get going. I'll call you later, okay?"

We hang up. I toss my phone down, waiting for it to ring again.

It doesn't.

I eventually head downstairs, grabbing something to eat from the dining  hall while it's open. It's slim pickings, a few scraggly students  hanging around from the building. The sun is still shining when I come  back upstairs. I crack open my philosophy textbook, trying to get ahead  on it, but end up falling asleep with the book on my chest.

I'm awakened much later by a noise. The room is encased in darkness, a  soft glow swaddling my desk beside the bed. My phone. Reaching over, I  pick it up and glance at the screen as it rings.

Naz.

I answer tentatively. "Hello?"

"You looked beautiful today."

No hello. No greeting at all. I'm stunned. Beautiful? Where did that come from?

My eyes are drawn down to myself. I haven't even changed out of my old  ratty pajamas in what I think might be two days. "How do you know?"

"I saw you."

My stomach is in knots. He saw me? "Where?"

"In my dreams."

The moment he says it, a smile lights up my face. "Are you just fucking with me?"

"No, but I'd like to be fucking you."

I laugh sharply. My body heats at those words. How does he do that, his responses so slick, so quick?

"I do know you looked beautiful today, though," he says. "I wasn't lying."

"How?"

"Because you always are."

I'm not sure how to respond to that. I start stammering. Thirty seconds  on the phone and I've turned into a blubbering fool because of this man.

He laughs, genuinely amused. "Goodnight, Karissa."

Before I can respond, he hangs up. I stare at the phone, biting my bottom lip, as I whisper, "goodnight," into the quiet room.

As silly as it is, I feel a bit better.

At least he hasn't forgotten about me.





Sunday afternoon drags, each minute like an hour, each hour damn near  another whole day. The dorm comes alive mid-afternoon as people filter  back in. I can hear our suite mates through the thin walls, returning  from wherever they headed off to.

I don't know.

Don't really care, either.

I'm a terrible neighbor.

I'm sitting in my bed, knees pulled up, staring down at the book propped  up against my legs, when the door flings open. Melody walks in, hauling  her bags along, and lets out a groan in lieu of a greeting. I glance up  as she discards her things by the door to collapse in her bed.

"Oh God, I'm exhausted!" she says.

"You look refreshed," I point out. In fact, she looks different, a sun  kissed glow to her. Her hair is almost platinum blonde, bleached from  the sun's rays, while her skin is now a deep tan.

It's amazing how much someone can change in a week.

"Refreshed?" She rolls over onto her side to gaze at me. "I feel like I was beaten!"

"Were you?"

Valid question with Melody, one she answers with a sly grin. "A lady never tells."

Laughing, I close my book and set it aside. "Good thing you're not a lady then."

Melody sticks her tongue out before launching into it, relaying details  from her trip. I thought I'd feel a twinge of jealousy, hearing all  about her adventures, but I'm more amused than anything. Because nothing  she says, no matter how exotic, tops my erotic.

You swam with dolphins? You went scuba diving? You sunbathed topless on a  gorgeous beach? Well I ate at the finest restaurant in the city, drank  thousand dollar champagne, and had my brains fucked out by the man of my  dreams.

I should tell her. She's my friend, maybe my best friend, arguably my  only friend... I should tell her about him. She's always telling me  about her escapades, and rarely do I ever have anything to share in  return.                       
       
           



       

I'm going to tell her.

I am.

I will.

"So what did you do this week?" she asks flippantly

Just not right now.

Maybe later.

"You know, little of this, little of that." A lot of that.

She scrunches her nose at my lame response and launches back into her  stories. I'm vaguely listening, her week just short of something out of  Girls Gone Wild, when she starts talking about someone named Paul.

"Who's Paul?" I ask, interrupting.

"Oh, you know Paul," she says, waving me off.

Paul Newman? Paul Bunyan? Peter, Paul, and Mary?

I don't know anybody named Paul.

"Refresh my memory."

Melody rolls her eyes, a slight flush to her cheeks as she rolls over  onto her stomach on her bed to stare at me across the room. "He's the  guy from Timbers. Remember? Mr. Top Gun?"

"I thought he was a Pat," I say, "or a Pete."

"Yeah, so did I, but no …  it's Paul. He's so great. He's just …  he's everything. I've never met someone like him before."

My brow furrows. I'm not sure what he has to do with anything. "He didn't stay at your resort or something, did he?"

"What? No, of course not. That would be crazy if a guy just showed up wherever I was. Stalker-y."